I'll Never Let Go
by wittyness
Summary: It was then that Dante decided that everyday he would whisper a new compliment in his ear, to unwind all the negativity his father wrapped Nero in. You're beautiful. Bright. Wonderful. Everything in my life. Worth it. And every day wouldn't be complete unless he saw him smile. Warning: I hope to make you cry that is all
1. Chapter 1

The Christmas cheer was fleeting and the winter chill always stuck straight to their bones.

It was petulant, still, to think either one of them could salvage the holidays. Tube socks were crudely stapled to the wall, beautifully decorated with cheap dollar store markers that Nero had slipped into his pocket last week. Dante had made sure to fill them with pepper mint candy that he'd taken from his job at a restaurant a couple blocks over, hoping—quite desperately—that it'd look more festive. Candles were set around the small studio apartment, ones that always smelled like spice and cinnamon and home. Most of the decorations were homemade, Nero had sat himself in front of the tiny, cracked TV set, adjusting the antennas every five minutes so he could watch and mimic as Martha Stuart demonstrated how to make this or that. To complete the set up, there was a Charlie brown-esque Christmas tree sitting on the far end of the room, looking quite depressing with no presents underneath.

He wondered if that spot would remain empty.

When Dante finally came home from his third job, he found Nero trying to sew together a Santa Clause hat from old pieces of clothing that didn't fit him anymore. He smiled at the smaller ones effort and leaned down to kiss him on the forehead, warmly. "Look what I swiped." Dante held up a fist full of candy canes and red eyes lit up, surging forward to kiss him on the mouth hard and desperate.

Nero didn't speak, not anymore, but his smile always conveyed everything he could've possibly said.

"I knew you'd be happy," He breathed. "We're going to make the most out of this, I promise. I just want you to be happy."

They were only seventeen; they were desperate to hold onto the Christmas naivety for just a little bit longer.


	2. Chapter 2

Back up a few years.

Nero and Dante are fifteen, living as neighbors and practically best friends. Every night they'd sit out on their cramped balconies, knees curled up to their chests tightly, talking about the things they couldn't hide from—not anymore. Nero's mom was in and out of the hospital every other week and they couldn't seem to afford the bills anymore, instead she stayed confined in the back room, keeping her son awake at night every time she cried out in pain. His father tried his hardest to stay hopeful, this was the first time in the last ten years he was actually sober enough to function and help out.

Dante had his own share of problems as well, he'd been living with his uncle half his life—after his parents had run off to France without so much as a goodbye note—and red eyes didn't miss the bruises he tried to hide with too big sweaters and fake toothy smiles.

Dante looked lost to him, always, and maybe no one else saw it. But, no one else had to, as long as he did.

It was Christmas of that year that they kissed under the mistletoe hung just above the stand that sold hot chocolate at some two bit place that sold Christmas trees.

And to this day, the smell of pine and stale hot chocolate mix made Nero think of stolen kisses.

Unfortunately, it was also only a month and a half later when Nero's mom passed away. She didn't go peacefully, she spent her last moments screaming as Nero's father clutched a picture of their family, back when it was happy, crying about how much he loved her.

After that, things started falling apart at the seams. The funeral came and went, they were estranged from most of their family—Nero couldn't help but feel as empty as the room his mother's ceremony was held in. Dante showed up and held his hand for five hours, small clutching fingers left indented bruises across his palm but he didn't seem to notice.

His father started drinking again, heavily, and Dante would lay awake at night listening to the augments through his thin apartment wall.

Worthless.

Good for nothing.

Pile of trash.

Waste of space.

It was then that Dante decided that everyday he would whisper a new compliment in his ear, to unwind all the negativity his father wrapped Nero in.

You're beautiful.

Bright.

Wonderful.

Everything in my life.

Worth it.

And every day wouldn't be complete unless he saw him smile.

It was during this time that Dante noticed he'd been becoming increasingly quiet and subdued. Nero had previously been diagnosed with dyslexia as a child, which caused him to be put in special programs and classes, causing his social skills to be impaired as well. He had trouble expressing his emotions properly, something that's always festered within him, and once Christmas came around again, he stopped speaking altogether, going into catatonic states from time to time. Dante figured it was his brain's way of dealing with all the trauma that's fallen upon him these past horrible years—a last ditch effort coping mechanism.

By March, bruising lined his arms, matching the ones Dante bore, from larger fists filled with empty anger.

And that was it.

They packed up their stuff and ran away, at sixteen, never looking back once.


	3. Chapter 3

I wrote this while I had no internet just to explain why I'm putting all the chapters up now.

* * *

They loved playing old Connie Francis cassette tapes on an old boom box Dante had managed to snag at a garage sale for fifty cents.

Have yourself a Merry little Christmas was booming throughout the apartment as the petite boy twirled and danced. Dante jumped in, blue eyes lit up, going perfectly with his flawless grin. He laced their fingers together and spunher around and around until the world was nothing but a blur, until the colors all mashed together. They'd spin around until their limbs tangled and they fell back onto the carpet, laughing—at this point Dante would lean over and whisper a compliment that made Nero's heart jump.

Because he still made a point to do that, every single day they were breathing.

"You're beautiful. Every. Single. Day."

This, they would deem as a good day, days that shun light into their other wise bleak living.


	4. Chapter 4

Where the good days shun light, the bad days created shadows.

Dante had come home from his second job down at the gas station to find their small, cramped apartment in complete chaos. The smoke detector was shrilling, accompanied by a cloud of suffocating…well, smoke. The phone was ringing, over and over, a never ending mantra.

And Nero was there, in the middle of it all, curled up in the corner, crying.

Blue eyes widened, a curse escaping his lips as he rushed over to the small oven where the smoke was seeping through the cracks. He pulled the handle violently, waving both arms as an army of toxic burst into his face. The dials were shut off and the contents inside hastily pulled out—hi hands burning and healing quickly, before burning again—and thrown into the sink. Little black crusted gingerbread men littered down, looking overtly deformed and charred. He quickly mourned the loss and rushed over to grab the lone green broom hidden next to the fridge, jamming the handle against the top, breaking the smoke detector, slamming upwards until the shrilling finally died down and the entire thing shut off.

Nero quietly whimpered from the corner as the phone stopped ringing for a second, only to resume a moment later.

Something definitely wasn't right.

Nero?" He approached the boy slowly, cautiously, like a trapped animal that was disoriented. "Nero? Breathe, sweetie. Please." Well, the problem was that he was breathing too much—hyperventilating, actually. Dante gently wrapped his arms around him, murmuring quiet reassurance while still trying to figure this situation out. He ran his cold fingers through his long white hair, rubbing his scalp every couple seconds.

He looked up at his blue eyes, then looked over at the phone that just wouldn't stop ringing, conveying a thousand unspoken words in one glance. Dante squeezed Nero's hand for a moment, prying himself away to finally fix this mess and just answer the damn thing.

The voice on the other line was one he didn't think he could ever forget.

And it's one he never thought he'd hear again.

"How the fuck did you get this number?"

The man on the other end sounded close to a drunken rage, screaming incoherent explanatives into Dante's ear. "Let me talk to him! Let me talk to my son! How dare he—how dare he run off! I'm going to find the both of you, I swear on his mother's grave. Then I'm going to beat the shit out of you. And then I'm going to make sure he learns to stay put."

Dante was always the calm one in tough situations. He held a soothing demeanor that most people only dreamed of obtaining. He held his composure, tamed his temper, and learned how to ease tension off slowly.

But this—this was his selfish moment of weakness that could only be produced by love.

"If you ever come near him again or hurt him in any way—I'll kill you."

And somehow he meant it. Nobody would ever hurt his boy again. Not while he was still breathing. He wouldn't even let them try.

And they didn't. They never heard from Nero's father again.

But they changed their number—just in case.


	5. Chapter 5

Nero's favorite part of the holidays was always sharing it with other people.

They didn't have to have a big house filled with pointless things to share the Christmas cheer. He was adamant about this concept—as cheesy as it may sound—and he was firmly sticking to the plans of having a perfect Christmas Eve dinner with their two closest friends.

Kyrie and Vergil were sitting on the couch talking with Dante while Nero worked away in the tiny 'kitchen' trying to make dinner perfect.

They made do with what little money they had, barely able to afford a small meal with frozen cut up pot roast and gravy that was on sale. He also tried his hand at making a homemade apple pie, trying to take in the teachings of Martha Stuart with every step of the process. And while the pie was sitting in the oven and the pot-roast was cooling on the counter, he sucked up all the nerves flying at the pit of his stomach and sat down next to Dante.

Kyrie smiled with excitement, fidgeting slightly. "I've really missed you two around school. How're you doin, hun?"

Nero bit his lip, clutching Dante's hand as he nodded, looking down at his feet. The experiences with his father scarred him, both physically and mentally. He was afraid of people, afraid of common social interaction. He didn't speak, for far too many reasons than he could ever explain, and he relied mostly on Dante's uncanny ability to know exactly what was on his mind.

But this—this was something he wasn't sure how to face.

"…how are the online classes down at the library? Good?"

He nodded once again, twitching slightly, feeling panic rise up into his chest.

Vergil tried to jump in as well and steer the conversation into less awkward waters. "You remember Mr. Murphy? Well, last week he totally flipped out and knocked one of the desks over. Told the principle he couldn't take the kids anymore and had a complete mental breakdown. We seriously thought he finally lost it." He laughed lightly at the memory.

Nero adverted his gaze nervously. He was never in the same classes as the rest of them, although, they all still hung out during break times and outside of school. But the bare mention of school made him feel extremely displaced. Both because he wasn't familiar with any of their in school antics and because those times were deemed the unhappiest of his life.

Dante sensed his discomfort—again he's brought back to his uncanny ability to read his emotions perfectly—and started talking about their far off insane plans to visit Rome.

It was the one place on earth Nero had always dreamed of seeing. He used to talk about it a lot, when they'd sit outside on their balconies watching the stars. Rome, he stated, is a place I know nothing about beyond pictures and likewise knows nothing about me beyond my appearance. The perfect hideout.

But life is life and money is tight (read: nonexistent) and trips don't just magically happen. They'll dream about it though, reframing from planning it out for now, since planning would make it feel that much more unobtainable.

But…maybe some day.

Nero drifted off into another daydream as they talked, imagining standing in front of famous paintings and learning to say I love you in Italian. He wasn't focused on the fact that he should be checking on the pie every ten minutes when the tiny stove they owned lacked a proper timer. But soon a prickling scent filled the air, causing everybody to look around curiously trying to place what it was.

Nero jolted suddenly, coming back to reality and understanding immediately what had gone wrong.

The pie!

He sprinted towards the oven and yanked the door open, hissing as the hot handle made contact with his delicate skin. Smoke hit him like a block of cement, causing him to stagger slightly and to start being pulled into a coughing fit.

Dante rushed over, pulling him away from the mess and slipping on a ratty old oven-mitt to dispose of the pie just as he had done with the gingerbread cookies.

Another dessert ruined.

He threw the charred mess in the sink hastily, running water over the unfortunate mess. Meanwhile, Nero whimpered and ran off to hide in the small bathroom (which was the only private space they had in this small studio apartment.)

The only thing he ever wanted was to have a perfect Christmas.


	6. Last I hope you criedI don't actually

Hours later after Dante had sent Kyrie and Vergil home and had given Nero privacy until the crying from within the cramped bathroom had died down, the clocked had ticked over into midnight and it was officially Christmas.

Dante knocked on the door softly, hoping he'd finally come out. "Nero? Please open the door; I promise you, nobody is mad about what happened. It was an accident—nobody's to blame. You still did a great job with dinner and the decorations. I'm so proud of you."

He heard shuffling on the other end, followed by a soft click of the lock. Dante smiled softly, opening the door to find the boy sitting on the floor with a red candle next to him, twirling an idle finger in his long white hair.

He slid down on the floor as well, taking a hold of his hand and lacing their fingers. "Merry Christmas," He murmured.

He wanted to tell him he didn't need to make the holidays perfect. That he didn't need to scrounge together homemade decorations and watch endless hours of Martha Stuart, trying to make the perfect dinner.

They made each other happy.

And there wasn't much else that could overshadow something like that.

Though, instead he just opted to empty his pockets and give him his Christmas gift, first pulling out two candy canes and putting them together to form a heart. "Because I love you." He set them down by Nero's wrist and then placed a small wrapped present in his lap. "Because you deserve so much more and I hope to give it to you—someday."

He carefully tore the wrapping paper off with shaking hands, opening the small white box and staring in awe. It was a beautiful bracelet with little charms and jewels that shined under the candle's light. "It was my mother's," He explained. "She left it on my dresser the night before she and my dad left. I didn't know how that was going to make me feel any better but I wasn't going to let my uncle get his grubby hands on it and pawn it off like he did with all our other stuff. So I kept it. For you."

He slipped the bracelet on with amazement and wondered how somebody who had no words to begin with could be rendered speechless.

But maybe no amount of words were enough, anyways.

Instead Nero gripped his hand tightly, looking with him with bright red eyes, saying, only you.

And his blue eyes understood.

I know.


End file.
